


Not Taking it Lyin' Down

by Ki_ru



Series: Into the Lion's Den [6]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Concerts, Depression, Dirty Talk, Happier Than You Might Expect, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mosh Pits, Reunions, So much kissing, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23260909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: A coincidental meeting after months of no communication goes not as one might expect. Instead, it's a proper goodbye - and it feels like peace.But could anything between them really be this easy?
Relationships: Dominic "Bandit" Brunsmeier/Olivier "Lion" Flament
Series: Into the Lion's Den [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1358311
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Not Taking it Lyin' Down

His blood has turned into raw electricity, enticing his limbs to never be still; the air is adrenaline and his body a conductor for each and every noise around him. He inhales exhilaration and is powered by the warmth of the swaying mass encasing him, and the centre of his entire universe is four guys shredding and screaming and singing. He forgot how alive he feels and simultaneously non-existent, like nothing matters anymore other than echoing the garbled lyrics and jumping along.

Even so, it’s a fucking miracle he went to the concert at all.

Jäger wouldn’t stop nagging him about some idiotic food place he’s obsessed with and Mira basically gave him homework about his gadget, and Buck tried to bribe him to come to that stupid party of his – and the only one not chewing Bandit’s ear off was Blitz who bought him the ticket in the first place and promised to tag along, like he always does, only to cancel last minute, as he always fucking does. Bandit has lost count by now, not that he kept it because both of them know how this little game of theirs goes anyway, and both of them pretend the previous times never happened.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t explicitly talk about many things, and Blitz’ fake apologetic smile as he sends his teammate off to something Bandit never would’ve marked down in his calendar without anyone accompanying him is just one of them.

Bandit doesn’t mind. Not anymore. A month or two ago he would’ve vowed to put shit in Blitz’ cereal as revenge and then merely ignored him for an entire week. Which is ultimately worse than the first option. He’s well aware.

But he went on his own despite all his co-workers doing a believable job of pretending to enjoy his company and despite the fact that two of the bands are rubbish, and by rubbish he means: fun live. If he had to make a Venn diagram of bands that are fun live and bands that are genuinely good, the latter would be a very small circle inside the former – his pickiness largely vanishes as long as there’s a guitar and a drum kit on stage, and as long as those are used to produce something _loud_.

It’s been a while and so he’s rusty, doesn’t quite venture out into the mosh pit just yet but soaks up the stuffy atmosphere like a sponge nonetheless. Tinged with weed, it smells of sweat and beer and the inevitable smoke machine, and the previous bands have done a good job of warming up the crowd. There’s expectant cheering after each song: the audience is looking forward to the last, the big one, but haven’t grown weary of the current band. Opening up is always a chore, like waking a ninety-year old grandpa. Tedious and not always crowned with success.

Waking up by himself had been a chore too, thinking back.

Here’s how it normally works: people fall ill and only then start to appreciate how healthy they were before. People lose something and retroactively realise how precious it was. Usually, it’s the sudden lack of something positive which manages to break through the daily monotony and reminds people of the good times.

Here’s how it worked for Bandit: one day he got up half an hour earlier. He didn’t cancel on IQ. He showered, even though he didn’t feel like it, and made some scrambled eggs for breakfast, and put new clothes on and the old in the wash, and he stacked all the dirty dishes and actually did them when he came home from work. He didn’t snap at Sledge when he found out the idiot had messed up the schedule. He cracked a joke to make Nomad smile.

Instead of looking back wistfully to the good times, he realised how fucking bad it’d been for a while. He’s been in the shitter so often in his life that by now he keenly notices whenever he’s doing good.

And of course he didn’t just wake up one day and everything was back to ‘normal’ – he’d been improving for a while, but never took the necessary step back to really appreciate it. So yeah. A month ago he’d probably not have gone to the concert. Two months ago definitely not.

Blitz, the absolute baby, actually fucking _cried_ and embarrassed everyone, including Bandit. All it took was Bandit showing up to pub night and buying a round and telling IQ her hair looked nice because he was having an unusually good day and Blitz started wiping away at his eyes and talking brokenly like a fucking toddler.

Bandit can’t even count the times he told Blitz to stop worrying about him, and still the moron won’t listen.

To be fair, this time around the black hole was fucking scary. Bandit’s been through it often enough to recognise the symptoms, but by then it’d progressed too far to halt the process – like an out of body experience, Bandit watched himself from the outside and screamed his throat raw to do all the things he knew helped while knowing full well he couldn’t hear himself. One too many meals scratched together from leftovers and snacks instead of going to the store. One minute too long in bed and he’d rather watch daytime TV than go charge his dead phone because he knows that if he gets up, he’ll stay up but it’s too scary to leave his cosy (prison) hideaway. Not like he’d reply to the messages anyway, dead phone or no.

Dressing in the morning helps, but what’s the point when no one comes over to see him. Eating well helps, but who the fuck even cares. Showering regularly helps, but it’s so damn _exhausting_ and besides he doesn’t smell that bad and his hair is fine.

Being with others helps. But at the same time, people drain him faster than running up an endless spiral staircase, so he keeps to himself and stews and festers and rots and runs up those infinite steps in circles, never stopping, ignoring advice by convincing himself it wouldn’t help while being fully aware -

There were a few expensive phone calls. Very expensive, his plan has no minutes included, plus one of them lasted three fucking hours, but they made it better. She’s the only one capable of stripping all pretensions and prejudices and presumptions about himself he’s gathered since the last time they talked. Whenever he hears her, he pictures her office with the pretty arrangement of succulents in the corner and the many credentials on the wall and the photo of an ugly terrier on her desk and her blissful, soothing voice floating in the air. She stripped him bare and gave him new clothes to try on, figuratively, and when he looked in a mirror, he liked what he saw.

Getting Bandit to talk to her initially is probably one of Blitz’ proudest achievements. This, too, they don’t talk about.

With her advice and previous experience and Blitz’ quiet support and, most importantly, _time_ , Bandit is back again as if he never left. Not consistently, it’s not a linear progression, but most of the time.

Which is why he’s singing along now, one voice amidst many, blinking into the bright lights directed at the writhing audience so the band members can fully appreciate the effect they’re having on a couple hundred individuals. Instead of sinking, Bandit is floating, drifting – no need to swim, not when the current is taking him where he needs to be – and applauds along with the people around him, cheers and feels two decades younger.

It was their last song and, as always, the audience was the best they’ve ever seen, yadda yadda, so Bandit scans the crowd out of curiosity, checks to see whether some people who randomly caught his eye for a variety of reasons are still there. One couple has brought their son, taking turns in carrying him on their shoulders and adjusting his ear protection; one drop dead gorgeous goth is clad in lace from head to toe and managed to squeeze her way to the front; a few tall guys at the back are drinking beers and wearing band shirts Bandit recognises as ones he wore a while back.

And then the sea of heads parts.

Almost dream-like, almost as if it was choreographed – Bandit is looking towards the other side of the room and catches a glimpse, sees something attracting his attention, and then he suddenly has an unobstructed view in the dimming lights of band #3.

The aristocratic cheekbones catch the dying illumination, flattering the sharp features framed by auburn hair in crass contrast to the aqua blue fixated on Bandit. Their eyes meet across the audience and might as well be mere centimetres apart with how personal it feels, and if he lets it, the moment could play in slow motion. Burn itself onto his brain like a fateful reunion.

He doesn’t let it. Gives it no chance at all, in fact, instead he allows the excitement to show on his face via a broad grin and points towards the back of the venue, towards the bar, immediately turns around when he gets a nod in return. His heart is beating fast though it’s been doing that ever since the gig started, and if his fingertips feel numb it’s because he’s been waving his arms around and clapping like a lunatic for most of the evening.

When they meet, they’re both beaming.

“I didn’t know you had any fucking taste in music, let alone a _good_ one”, Bandit opens and can’t remember why it used to be so hard to try and amuse him.

Lion laughs, his hair sticking up in places and the t-shirt he bought earlier sitting tight across his chest – Bandit knows this look, it’s screaming ‘taking no chances on the merch being sold out but also too lazy to carry a shirt so putting it on was the only option’. He knows it so well because it’s the same one he’s sporting right now. “I can listen to pretty much anything these days, but only these guys get me going. Were you here for the first one?”

“You mean that wankfest disguised as a concert? For a tiny act they were pretty preoccupied with jerking off to their own music.” Bandit recalls held chords and lots of closed eyes.

“Come on, some of their riffs were decent. Want a beer?”

“Sure. You certainly need one, you sound like you’ll have no voice tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I hear that.”

“No. You won’t, that’s what we’re saying.”

Bandit rolls his eyes at the dumb play on words and Lion elbows him in the side while cackling, but it’s all good-natured. It’s all so fucking _easy_ and it should be odd how easy it is.

They get their beers and chat about other concerts they’ve been to, Bandit mentioning one where someone in a wheelchair crowdsurfed and Lion having witnessed a pit turned into an ice rink due to spilled pints with people falling all over each other, and the weirdest thing about it all is that it’s not weird whatsoever. It’s like meeting an acquaintance – but without all the goddamn baggage, just someone they’re both happy to see and neither of them knows why they haven’t been meeting up more, maybe it’s because they can’t think of an excuse or simply assume it’s one-sided yet maybe after today one of them will suggest another casual get-together and literally at no point does Bandit feel like he’s playing a role.

This is him. He relishes going to concerts, thrives on exchanging opinions about this type of music, enjoys social contact like this. This is an essential part of him which has always been there next to the – next to all the other stuff.

And he bets it’s the same for Lion. He had friends growing up, interests, opinions, and there have always been moments where he’s been like this. It’s not fake. They’ve just been too focused on their own survival to relax. They never turned their backs to each other and therefore missed out on this side completely.

“My first concert was some shitty punk band I really wanted to see for some reason. My parents said I could go if Cedde went, so I bribed him by promising to do his homework for a week. He fucking hated them, called their music trash and left after two songs. Shortest one I’ve ever been to and man, was I pissed.”

“Mine wasn’t any better. My parents insisted on driving me two cities over, after I already made arrangements with my older friends – it was that, or I wouldn’t be allowed to go. Since my parents didn’t want to wait long – yes, they stayed in the car and waited –, everyone got there hours before me and I couldn’t find them. Ended up standing awkwardly by myself for all of it and afterwards, my parents told me off for taking too long and said next time I’d have to be outside at ten on the dot.”

Bandit scoffs and shakes his head in commiseration. “Parents just don’t get it, do they? I’ve met none who understand concerts.”

And as Lion makes a noise of agreement, Bandit belatedly realises how easy it would’ve been to drop a comment about how spoiled the redhead is. But honestly? Being raised in a golden cage isn’t much better than being raised teetering between neglect and suffocation, is it? And what does it even matter, what does it matter that the beer is too weak, what does it all fucking matter when the quiet in-between-acts music switches to ABBA and half the crowd sings along enthusiastically.

This world can be so fucking beautiful and it’s why Bandit does what he does. Ultimately, this is why.

Lion grew up on different media than Bandit yet the overlap is astonishing, and what’s left is their topic of conversation for the rest of the break. It flies by like nothing while Lion details the weirdest kids’ show Bandit has ever heard of, to which he replies ‘that explains a lot about French people’ and Lion, mock offended, retaliates with the name of a disturbing German programme he caught from IQ, which is fair enough, and they evaluate genres of music and film and none of it feels awkward. No lull in conversation. Lion interrupts him a few times, brain even faster than his mouth, and Bandit lets him, and when he tells a personal story in between sarcastic remarks, Lion nods along, and he doesn’t run into a wall when he asks the Frenchman some questions, genuinely wanting to know the answer.

Here’s how it works with them: they notice, keenly, the absence of all things bad.

Between having to concentrate on each other’s words and talking themselves (the noise level never drops down to a comfortable point), they forget about the flimsy plastic cups in their hands and so when the lights dim and cheers erupt for the final band, there’s still too much left to dive into the undulating bodies. Talking becomes impossible and besides, they both are excited to see this group, so Lion (unsuccessfully) attempts to down his drink. In his eternal concert outfit made up of ratty jeans and a black printed t-shirt, he looks younger than he is and even younger when he throws a longing glance at the chaos right in front of the stage.

“Go on, I’ll finish yours”, Bandit tells him and has to lean in close to get the message across. But there’s nothing about it, no ulterior motive, no chance to sniff his hair or whatever. He’s doing the other man a favour just for the sake of it, and maybe a tiny bit to get some free beer, but not really. Lion can tell. He smiles, hands over his cup and fuses with the collective of other black t-shirts to make his way to the front and throw himself into the fray.

Bandit watches him go and takes a big sip. The acoustics are horrendous, the vocalist near incomprehensible and the drums way too loud, yet the beat reverberates in his ribcage regardless. The guitar sets a merciless rhythm, designed to intoxicate, and he experiences exactly what Lion did as soon as the music started: the overwhelming urge to move.

It takes him less than ten seconds to chug both cups.

The pit is warm, almost hot from the steaming bodies, and relatively asshole-free. It’s been a few years, though moshing is like cycling, and there’s nothing rusty about how quickly Bandit abandons himself in the wild circle. That’s the key to it: accepting whatever comes his way, acting like a bumper car and only putting up resistance when he’s about to crash into the first row of onlookers. They give as good as they get, in fairness, they shove the participants back in and barely move to protect the rest of the audience. They’ve always been the MVPs, really.

Unspoken rules are Bandit’s favourites, especially when they’re a secret code of conduct imperceptible to outsiders – whoever drops is yanked up in seconds, if someone throws elbows they’re shown no mercy, women are treated exactly the same. Nods are exchanged in between songs, sometimes everyone just jumps in time with the beat, and now and then it’s nothing but a bunch of crazed-looking idiots running and skipping in a circle to show their appreciation to the band. Lion apologises to someone he knocks down purely by existing and is waved off, Bandit takes a steel-toed boot to the shin and already looks forward to bragging about his bruises to Blitz, undoubtedly cementing his conviction of never accompanying Bandit to a concert, ever.

During a slower hymn, they leave the mosh pit and merge with the crowd surrounding it, breathing heavy and looking worse for wear. Lion’s hair is fucking everywhere, including his sweaty forehead, and he’s mirroring Bandit’s shit-eating grin.

“This is probably where I got it from”, he informs Bandit out of breath and points to a few red spots on his pale arms which will morph into full blown bruises the next day, and Bandit gets what he’s referring to. It’s close enough: a mixture of adrenaline, ecstasy, pain, loss of control. Bandit has gotten his kick from the same source in the past.

“I can’t feel my goddamn left foot”, he retorts and nearly topples over when trying to shake out his leg. Lion snorts at him, an undignified, wholly unselfconscious sound, and puts an arm around his waist to stabilise him.

They stay next to each other for the rest of the performance, shoulders touching, linking arms while jumping, yelling in unison. _This is the bonding you could’ve had_ , Bandit mentally directs at Blitz and mentions to Lion that his teammate keeps standing him up.

“Better this way”, Lion tells him, mouth close to Bandit’s ear, “he would’ve asked ‘and when does the actual music start’ and you would’ve had to strangle him with someone’s Iron Maiden shirt.”

Bandit hears himself laugh. He’s not wrong.

“I’m trying to visit once a month now. It’s been more the past weeks but I had some holiday time saved up – and Claire said it was handy anyway, what with her having to work alternate weekends and Tony being swamped as well. You know, apparently he threatened his friends by having his ‘bio dad’ beat them up, which Tony found hilarious and Claire… not so much. I don’t mind the nickname though. It sounds kinda futuristic, doesn’t it?”

The night air feels like a refreshing shower after the cramped venue, even if Bandit is occupied with breathing in through his cigarette. For a lack of a better option, they’re leaning against the wall of the Maccas they just visited and still talking like old friends in desperate need of catching up. The biting taste of too-sweet ketchup lingers on the back of his tongue and his mouth is dry from the stale burger he devoured. There’d been no silence, not since the vocalist wished them a good night, neither on the lonely walk towards their choice of fast food nor during their half-hearted feast.

“How’s he at school?”, Bandit wants to know between drags and almost brings up Smoke’s daughter and her affinity for languages (very much not shared by her dad), but this is just for them. This is just the two of them.

“Good. He’s good. Stubborn, his teachers call him, but it’s only the ones refusing to change their ways. If they’re enthusiastic, he follows suit. I’m glad no one has told him of my days in school. A rotting sandwich in the air filtration was my immediate legacy when I left.”

They laugh and it’s more water dripping down, taking grease and dirt with it. They’ve tidied and cleaned so many aspects in their lives except for each other, so tackling this last challenge feels immensely satisfying. If this is what closure feels like, Bandit doesn’t know why he kept postponing it for his entire life. It’s similar to that one visit home he dreaded for so many years; that one visit starting out with accusatory wordlessness and hard stares and ending with a long handshake. He still doesn’t know for sure whether his brother has forgiven him.

Doesn’t know whether Lion has.

“What about you?”, asks Lion. He’s never been this cooperative, never just accepted the flow without wanting to redirect it, never nudged without eventually pushing.

Not unlike Bandit himself.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He fills his lungs a last time and tosses the butt onto the pavement where Lion extinguishes it with a heel. “Nothing much happened. My niece broke an arm by running into a wall – she definitely takes more after her dad than her mum.” _I defrosted my freezer and cleaned up my fridge yesterday_. “Marius convinced me to buy a Switch and is now too busy to even play it with me.” _I_ _went to a doctor about my persistent cough two weeks ago._ “Oh, and I finally had my doorbell repaired.”

“So you’ve been a busy bee as well.”

He grins. No need to justify himself, he’s pretty certain Lion understands more than he lets on. A shame he can’t share the real victories with the ginger, not because of any tangible reason but more because it feels like bad taste. Unnecessary. Inappropriate, after they’ve shared a beer and a meal and their excitement at the concert.

“Spare one?”, Lion asks and accepts the cigarette handed to him. Their fingers touch, and it’s nothing extraordinary. He can’t quite work the lighter in the soft breeze tousling his messy hair, so Bandit motions for him to step closer instead of prefacing it with a snide remark. He feels no need to rile him up or provoke him.

If this is how it’s gonna be, Bandit can live with it, easily.

The mental image sharpens gradually the further the night progresses: acknowledging nods whenever they meet at work. Professionalism. Occasional inquiry about personal or the well-being of loved ones. Shared pub nights, but never alone. No hard feelings, no ill-speaking behind each other’s backs. Friendly competition. A shrug when anyone asks about it, a distracting comment to switch topics. No spare time together. No unnecessary messages or phone calls ~~(and this one is a momentary stab in the gut because they only phoned twice in frantic withdrawal, suffering from symptoms they couldn’t place, angry and confused and combative and the result was a fucking train wreck probably setting both of them back a few weeks)~~. In short: peace.

While he cups his hands around the tip of the cancer stick, a reddish stray strand touching his own short hair, he’s overcome by a profound calm. This really is the end. Not the abrupt finale a while back, the day Bandit finally grew some balls and did both of them a favour by kicking out the Frenchie, no. This gentle sizzling suits their present selves more than the brutal, sudden cut followed by icy muteness.

They’re regarding each other with uncharacteristic composure. Lion’s lips part to blow the smoke aside and for the first time since they spotted each other, no one is saying anything.

He’s doing good. He’s doing great, actually; from what Bandit can tell, Lion is beginning to feel at home in Rainbow at last, finding his feet around his son, communicating with his family. He’s thriving, as is Bandit himself. It eradicates any and all doubts about having made the right decision. This is a goodbye and, oddly, it’s a wistful one, despite all the ugliness in between. No hard feelings remain. They’re even, somehow, finally on the same level with the same advantage, independent and smarter than they used to be.

It’s nice. There’s nothing tugging at Bandit, prompting him to do anything. Like this, they can co-exist. All they have to do is finish the evening, say goodbye and go their separate ways, and it’s done. Signing off on a turbulent chapter of their lives. Punch out and bin the card.

Lion’s lips are warm on his.

In fact, he’s radiating body heat, a remnant of the concert, no doubt, and his side is burning up under Bandit’s palm. It happened simultaneously, the redhead leaning forward and Bandit reaching out and neither of them would admit nor deny moving first. They melt where they’re touching, just a little, so they lick it up before it can spill and retreat back into their own personal space again, examining each other curiously.

The unflattering neon light has Lion look like he’s from a film, too sharp for how soft his colours are – porcelain skin, freckles blending in, washed-out eyes. He hasn’t dropped his cigarette which feels like progress, because they’re not scrambling, struggling, pushing or pulling. Lion’s hand doesn’t shake when he raises it for another drag.

Belatedly, Bandit realises he’s never seen him smoke before. One drag doesn’t count.

He can taste it on the Frenchman’s tongue and it tempts him closer, and this time when they kiss, it lasts a while. No dirty tricks, no power struggle, no urgency. It is what it is: a kiss, lazy making out, snogging right next to a McDonald’s with graphic t-shirts on and beer in their hair and the rank smell of stale weed wafting around them from somewhere. Bandit takes it at face value. He shouldn’t, but he trusts Lion that this is what it appears to be.

Smiling is second nature when they part again. Lion looks so fucking good it’s unreal, and it has nothing to do with his physical attractiveness. He’s more vibrant. He doesn’t drop his gaze. He stands up straight.

“I forgot how awful these are”, he states, grimacing at the half-gone cig between his fingers, and doesn’t complain when Bandit temporarily takes it from him.

“When was the last time you had one?”

“A few years ago, when I visited Claire again for the first time. Was so nervous I bought a pack, but I threw it away after trying one.”

He can picture it; personified anxiety in the body of a man. “Are you nervous now?”

Lion flashes his teeth. “No. I’m just in the habit of re-trying things to see if I like them now.”

“Your verdict?”

“Could be worse. Could be a lot worse.”

They’re not talking about cigarettes anymore.

Or maybe they are, and Bandit is just used to Lion not stating what he actually thinks and therefore assumes an entirely different topic. The result is the same either way – Lion is still close, brushing his knee against Bandit’s and watching him with interest, the only physical connection between the two up until their tongues meet again.

It’s still lazy. Confident for sure, they have nothing to prove and all the time in the world, for this night is a stolen one, feels vivid and surreal simultaneously. No flourishes, no showing off, just a deep kiss culminating in Lion’s free hand in Bandit’s hair and a faint longing burning slow between their legs. They’re not hard but they could be, if Lion grinded against him or if Bandit praised him or if either of them let out a helpless moan to complement their heavy breaths.

They don’t. After all, there’s no need.

“You don’t look like you taste”, Bandit says as Lion finishes the cigarette, and earns a chuckle for the remark. In some moments, he looks like unripe strawberries or copper.

“You do”, Lion shoots back and it’s clearly meant to offend.

“Want to come back to mine?” And he nearly adds: _I’ve got the place to myself_. There’s something juvenile about all this, about the bubbly excitement foaming over at the concert, about the inconsequential banter between all the adult topics, about the chance meeting and seizing the moment. Spontaneously inviting someone after running into them unexpectedly – Bandit hasn’t done this in a long while. It carries the thrill of freedom somehow, as did the impromptu junk food they consumed. The urge to break out into giggles is overwhelming.

Blue flashes at him, intrigued. “Love to.” He didn’t miss a beat.

They hold hands on the way.

Words nonchalant, the tight grip betrays both of them equally: they missed – something, maybe each other, maybe just an unattainable idea, yet human touch was part of it and the good-natured slaps on the back from their teammates don’t count. They don’t get it. IQ, who hugged him after he defended her against Kali, doesn’t get it, and Smoke, who half carried him through that brutal exercise just before Bandit started eating again, also doesn’t get it, and even Blitz, who’s witnessed so much of Bandit it’s a miracle he hasn’t run away screaming, doesn’t get it. He thinks most of it is a fucking tragedy.

It’s just life. Life doesn’t fit into just one category.

And so Lion’s touch feels cleansing. Strengthening. There’s a hint of hypocritical in there, buried under heaps of endorphins, and it’s something Bandit consciously ignores. Now’s not the time. The female voice in his head – which has transferred from his phone to his mind now, fortunately, he’s saving a lot of money like this – reminds him to be kind to everyone, himself included. He strokes over Lion’s knuckles with his thumb and tries to listen with an open mind.

“Bertrand taught me a lot about two things: forgiveness and acceptance. He said the Lord knows if I make an effort and will judge me accordingly, and it really feels that way. I’ve started accepting others and they’re accepting me. I show people forgiveness and they forgive me. There’s a balance, and I’m rewarded for taking the first step.” A side glance and quick squeeze. “I know you think it’s a load of nonsense.”

“I have a problem with people who need to imagine some omniscient sky being watching them to behave decently.”

“It’s not logical, that’s your issue. You can’t approach belief with logic, it’s more of an emotion. A state of being.”

“Are you sure you didn’t breathe in too much weed?”

They smile at each other, without teeth. There’s no bite in their back-and-forth.

“Can I ride with you on your motorcycle tomorrow? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Sure. There are some winding roads in the area which are really fun.”

Easy to promise, especially when the future doesn’t exist. Bandit’s thoughts operate exclusively in the _now_ and all he’s focusing on is Lion’s hand in his, the ground below his feet, the path to his apartment and their current topic. Beyond that, it’s an empty void of could-be and why-not and we’ll-cross-this-bridge-when-we-get-to-it. He doesn’t dwell on whether it’s a carefully maintained front or a result of the carefree evening or a newfound state of mind.

Withdrawing his hand so he can get his keys feels wrong, so he awkwardly juggles them in his free hand with Lion patiently waiting, patiently holding on, patiently prolonging the timespan until they have to make a choice. For once, deciding doesn’t feel like a chore. It’s an exciting prospect.

Behind them, his door closes with a reassuring finality: they’re on their own now, no one can judge them for what happens, not other concert-goers, not the cashier at the fast food joint, no passers-by. It feels like they’ve never been here before, like Bandit should be glad he tidied up so his new acquaintance doesn’t see the flat in its usual state, and simultaneously like coming home together. Neither of them lets go.

“What do you want to do?”, he asks, because they did not come here for a continuation of their friendly chat, that much is obvious.

Lion meets his gaze directly. “You.”

It’s blunt and demure. Nearly a joke, but the dreamy quality of it gives it away, and Bandit doesn’t second guess him for a single heartbeat. That is indeed what Lion wants, somehow, and he shall get it.

“Okay”, Bandit agrees easily and wasn’t prepared for the blinding smile he receives as response. They’re slow but not hesitant, embrace tightly before resuming their kissing and stumble through the flat towards the bedroom where Lion presses him against the wall, pushes his own body flush with Bandit’s. His physique is imposing, his limbs strong and effortlessly keeping Bandit in place – not that he’d want to escape, not now, not with Lion’s tongue dipping in his ear and making him squirm. The moment teeth come into play, Bandit lets out a low growl of satisfaction and feels the corners of Lion’s mouth lift.

He’s being seduced and it’s a full body experience: soft hair brushing over his cheek as Lion suckles on the side of his neck, broad palms knead his hips and ribs and chest, and a hard thigh is forcing between his own. Lion’s lips are relentless, capture every bit of naked skin and deliver quick nips here and there. Already, Bandit feels overstimulated with so much going on, so much that he produces a strangled moan when Lion starts attacking his neck.

“Yes”, he breathes and buries his fingers in copper streaks, “right there. Keep it up. Fuck yes.”

His neck is his weak spot and he lets Lion capitalise on it freely. Every pang of pain shoots directly into his cock and causes it to strain against Lion’s leg – the bites make him close his eyes in bliss and relax into the touches. Weak fingers seek out the hem of Lion’s shirt and hold on to his waistband, otherwise Bandit simply enjoys the thorough ministrations.

Lion exploits whatever he can, sucks a bruise on tender skin and pushes his own erection into Bandit’s hip; he’s eager without being desperate, enthrals without urgency, undresses Bandit without leaving him naked. Warm digits delve below the two t-shirts, one old and the other acquired today, lift them over Bandit’s head and massage any tense muscles they come across. There’s no exploration, no novelty in his touches: they’re not doing this for the first time and therefore Lion doesn’t need to familiarise himself with Bandit’s body – even though he never actually did so, was never given the freedom to do so at his heart’s content.

Still. It’s unnecessary. Lion knows what these scars feel like, knows what the skin will look like even if there are some new ones. Ribs this time, not as easy to conceal but less prone to chafing compared to the thighs.

Instead of letting his hands roam over Bandit’s upper body, they wander to his nipples with purpose and that purpose is to take Bandit apart. They’re as sensitive as Lion’s own and as such, he knows exactly what to do to make Bandit squirm in sweet agony, moan in blissful torture. Desire is a constant hum and having given up control so completely puts Bandit in a blurry state of mind. He vaguely registers what happens to him, notes the effect it has on him, but lifting his arm becomes impossible. Lolling his head left and right allows Lion to access what little of Bandit’s neck is not aching yet and dreamily reciprocating the pressure against his crotch seems to be the limit of what his drifting mind is capable of.

And then, as if he sensed it, Lion yanks him back into the present with one fluid motion: he slides down Bandit’s body, licks over the ring on the left side in the process, dips his tongue into his navel, hands trailing behind and coming to a halt on Bandit’s thighs. A playful smirk is prominent on his regal face, rendering him even more feline than usual. This sight could raise the dead.

He’s a fucking good cocksucker and he knows it. This is what Bandit reads in his cheeky expression: for Lion, witnessing the anticipation as well as the pleasure is worth postponing his own satisfaction. And God, is he playing it up. Fixes Bandit with a paralysing stare full of mirth and heat and starts opening his belt with his fucking _mouth_. This isn’t his first time, he’s had to do it on one previous occasion which went a lot less smooth than this due to a number of reasons, but today it’s bloody sinful how goddamn sexy he makes it look. Ensures Bandit has a perfect view of him pulling down his zip with his teeth.

Cheeky. So fucking cheeky he’s inviting commentary, and though there’s a part of Bandit that wants to tell him _curious to know where you got practise, kiddo_ , instead he whispers: “Look at you.”

Lion’s eyebrows shoot up. He’s listening, despite being busy pulling Bandit’s jeans down.

“Yeah. You know what you’re doing. You know what you look like right now, kitten.”

It’s not a slip-up. Just because it slipped out doesn’t mean he slipped up, but he hadn’t meant to use the nickname – he didn’t make the decision not to use it consciously either, it just doesn’t seem to fit the mood so it’s a bit of a surprise to feel it roll over his tongue, and he’s wondering whether he regrets it or not when Lion draws his attention back by mouthing at his clothed dick.

“I’m no kitten”, he protests softly and actually looks like he demands agreement.

“You’re as adorable as one”, Bandit counters, deadpan, stroking over Lion’s jaw in the hope of defusing this situation.

He earns a chuckle, a quick kiss to his hipbone and a quiet _fuck off_ , and then the Frenchie is back to being the hottest guy Bandit has ever had kneeling in front of him by pulling down his underwear and catching the cock that bounces out with his mouth.

And good Lord. If anything, he’s even _better_ now.

Bandit keeps muttering encouragement and realises quickly that Lion rewards him for it: if he keeps talking, the redhead swallows him whole, nearly gags himself with the shaft between his lips, pushes his nose into coarse curls and sends up a fiery gaze. He sucks like a young God and uses his tongue to seal the deal; together with the unabashed wet noises accompanying the leisurely head bobbing, he could have Bandit undone in less than a minute. If he so chose.

However, as soon as Bandit begins stroking his hair and groaning, he withdraws. A last lick to the glistening tip is all Bandit gets, and then Lion is at eye level again. In the warm light of Bandit’s dim bedside lamp, he’s stunning, almost glowing from the inside, too handsome to be real. He’s a catch. Bandit considers himself lucky.

“Fuck me”, says Lion.

And all bets are off.

Bandit is vibrating with how much he wants this man, so the words are the signal he’s been waiting for. Whirling Lion around to slam his back against the wall is second nature, as is yanking and tugging on his clothes – why is he even still dressed when Bandit should’ve been inside him an hour ago? He crashes their lips together, swallows Lion’s moans and wastes no time in groping him wherever possible. His muscles are as hard as ever, his body so hot and flawless Bandit needs to refresh his haptic memory, his chest and shoulders broad and his thighs thick and his ass, dear fucking God his _ass_. He smells so familiar, of concert and burgers and something animalistic underneath which drives Bandit absolutely wild.

Lion fucking _loves_ it. He can’t stop smiling, drags Bandit back in for more sloppy making out several times and puffs himself up as much as he can: flexes his muscles, presents particularly pretty body parts, soaks up Bandit’s caresses like a sponge and twists in his tight hold to accidentally press their lower halves together.

Where he’s been seduced, all Bandit does is ravish. He’s rock hard and aching, more than ready to sink into this beautiful man, and therefore has no time for embellishment. Both t-shirts drop to the floor next to his own, then the jeans go, and soon he’s facing nothing but pale, pristine skin. Endless. Any scars are almost too light to show and the only discolourations are birth marks and darkened flecks, soon-to-be bruises he didn’t cause. Lion is perfect from head to toe and for once, Bandit wants nothing other than marvel at him.

The first generous amount of lube goes on Lion’s cock, jutting out proudly and the head a rich red, foreskin peeled back on its own and skin around it bare and smooth. It’s pretty, even prettier in Bandit’s fist and shimmering with moisture, even prettier than that when it twitches in his grip. He doesn’t have long to appreciate the sight before Lion demands more kissing by pulling him close, causing his slick rod to brush against Bandit’s own, and the contact is electrifying. Keeping up with how Lion’s tongue slowly unravels him is a challenge Bandit gladly tackles by tightening his fingers around the hot flesh and massaging it the way he knows drives Lion insane. The result is gratifying: both of them are panting into each other’s mouths now, nearly biting down on tongues, basically drooling with how wet it is. Careless, sloppy, mind-numbingly erotic.

In between aimless stimulation, they conduct a half-hearted conversation not really leading anywhere yet somehow vital to their climbing pleasure, like fighting talk. _Get on with it_ , Lion demands and shows no signs of impatience, even when Bandit grabs both their dicks with one hand to jerk them both simultaneously. _You like this. – I do. – You don’t want me to stop. – I don’t._ And Lion’s mouth finds that sensitive spot right below Bandit’s jaw, forcing a whine out of him. _Make that noise again._ Bandit sucks on Lion’s lower lip to muffle all of his vocal reactions to the other man playing with his nipple piercing. _You should get one of these. – Does it feel good? – Now? You hear me moaning, right?_

Bandit could either come in ten seconds or ten years. The pressure, the glide of cock on cock, it’s fucking divine and with Lion sounding like he’s dreaming right now, it’s obvious both of them are so far out of it. They’re utterly drunk off each other and can’t get enough. A hot mouth latches on to Bandit’s chest and Lion’s hand finds his balls and if they’re not gonna do _something_ soon, he’ll come all over himself without even realising.

“Let me finger you”, he suggests, or maybe pleads, and his tongue feels heavier than normal, possibly because Lion sucked on it until it was swollen.

“Not necessary.”

“Bullshit. Don’t be a fucking hero, you love that shit anyway. Let me get my fingers in you.”

“All it takes for me is to turn around and you can shove your cock in me right up to the hilt.”

Jesus. Bandit needs a moment to blink at the extremely pretty collarbone he’d been nibbling at to parse the words he just heard. It’s just as well that he stopped moving or otherwise he might’ve creamed himself right then and there. “Fuck. Don’t say that.”

“Come on. I want you inside.” Lion is serious now; no dirty talk for its own sake anymore. It’s perfectly possible he’s been serious all this time.

“If we did that, I’d fill you up in a heartbeat. Bad idea.” Despite Bandit’s insistent tone of voice, Lion’s raised eyebrow implies he disagrees with that assessment. When did he become so insatiable? “Counterproposal: I massage your prostate until you can hardly stand, and _then_ I fuck you.”

This time, Lion needs a second to compose himself. “Alright. Yes. Sounds good. Let’s lie d-”

Before he’s finished his sentence, Bandit has already put one of Lion’s feet on top of the bed and spread his thighs for easier access. No lying down for now. Coating his other fingers in more viscous liquid, it doesn’t take much to slip a single digit into waiting heat. Despite the swiftness of the motion, Lion accepts him easily and swallows another within seconds, giving no indication of discomfort – quite the opposite. He grinds his hips into it, bites his lip, buries his fingernails in Bandit’s back, all the while producing small noises of pleasure.

“Feels good?”, he asks before he can stop himself. Both of them remember him saying these words several times before and both of them pretend they don’t. Lion simply nods, clearly focusing on the sensation further down, and when Bandit crooks his fingers, it looks like the ginger has forgotten how to produce coherent speech anyway.

Bandit is merciless: he gently rubs over that special spot until he can feel Lion’s hips shaking, and then he starts pressing their dicks together once more, massaging the tips, stroking them softly. Every upstroke coaxes noises out of both of them and they interrupt their half-arsed kissing to just rest their foreheads together, heavy breaths mingling, lost in the stimulation. Lion’s hands absent-mindedly travel over dark tattoos as Bandit’s take him apart bit by bit and if the filthy squelching sounds weren’t enough to cloud his mind, the hoarse moans falling from Lion’s lips certainly would be.

They sink deep into the pit of complacency, cease thinking ahead and take whatever they can get – the wet frotting aided by Bandit’s fist has them grind against each other mindlessly and any ultimate goal Bandit pursued by stretching Lion with three fingers has escaped him. They would’ve remained like this for eternity or until one of them climaxed, were it not for Lion’s leg buckling under him and only his iron hold around Bandit stopping him from losing his balance.

“Enough”, the Frenchie gasps and shoos Bandit’s arms away to catch his breath momentarily. He looks like he did right after the concert, dishevelled, sweaty, dazed, ecstatic. Even though lust weighs down his eyelids and limbs, he manages a smile. “Fuck. I forgot how good that felt.”

 _I forgot how good_ you _felt_ , Bandit thinks and wonders what sounds the redhead would make if he ate him out. He never tried it and now it’s suddenly on top of his list, together with letting him facefuck Bandit. Or allowing him to just fuck Bandit. Properly. No restraints, doggy style, possibly even a few ropes on Bandit’s side or a fucking _sound_ and dear God, he hasn’t been this horny in months. ~~(Leaving out that second phone call of course, and why oh why is Lion the only one who does this to him.)~~

Lion is the one who decides what to do by simply manhandling Bandit onto the bed and straddling him unceremoniously. His thigh muscles are standing out and his skin isn’t as pure anymore as it was in the beginning: a few lovebites are scattered over his neck and shoulders, his exquisite cheeks are flushed and red splotches visible where they’d been pressed together before. He’s less ethereal now, has become a tangible being Bandit isn’t afraid to taint. And still he feels no urge to add scratches or words or welts.

“Look at me”, Lion demands and so Bandit looks at him. His eyes are an odd mixture of calm and restless, as if his impatience didn’t worry him since he knows its origin and remedy.

And this is where it finally hits Bandit like a fucking bus in full speed.

This is Lion.

It’s Lion and they’re in his bed together, naked, wanting, _needing_ , the same person who demanded and took and eventually gave way too much. The person consistently on his mind for a while, the person who refused to fit into his life like an oversized jigsaw puzzle piece that was willing to cut its own edges off to _make_ itself fit. The person who left that big gaping hole Bandit fell into.

But at the same time, it’s not Lion at all. This isn’t the same guy who so desperately hides his sexuality, who refuses to seek outside help and depend on his friends, who only in rare moments isn’t prickly and defensive (and doesn’t most of this sound distressingly familiar). This is someone Lion painstakingly re-built out of ruins Bandit partially caused and maintained. It’s a new person with old memories, who knows what to avoid and encourage.

It’s a person who consciously made the decision to sleep with Bandit.

His cockhead breaches Lion the moment Bandit understands what this complex, wild, marvellous creature on top of him means to him and all thought explodes into marrow-deep desire. Lion is unbearably hot, his walls welcoming Bandit by clenching down between movements and alright, his epiphany can wait a bit.

Lion’s eyelashes are fluttering as he takes all of Bandit inside in one go, like he’s been preparing for this his entire life; he frames Bandit’s legs with his own, wraps his hands around his ribs like they belong, sits down like he’s there to stay, and fuck it, no, this enlightenment can’t wait because Bandit’s heart feels like it’ll burst any second now. He pulls the other man down and kisses him to silence the words almost escaping from his mouth, words he doesn’t even know are true – they might be right now, here, in the middle of an incorporeal night, but what’ll be on the next morning, he doesn’t know.

“I missed you so much”, he pants against wet lips instead, a faded shadow of what he means to say and still it elicits a hum of agreement.

“I missed you too”, comes the reply and it’s missing the accusatory, helpless undertone it would’ve had months ago. _I felt terrible after you pushed me away_ , would be the implication, and now it’s nothing but _I’m so happy to see you_. Whatever it is that happened to them, it couldn’t have been better. They exchange saliva for a few minutes longer while affectionate touches are the only sensation they crave, but when Bandit’s dick throbs in protest, Lion sits back up with a content, confident smile. _Watch this_ , it seems to convey.

And Bandit realises in alarm that he’s not ready.

Because Lion rides like he’s getting paid for it.

Parts of it are slow, deliberate rolls of his hips allowing for Bandit’s cock to scrape all the right places. Lion works his muscles as if he himself was a work of art, creates waves and ripples in his body to milk Bandit’s in return – and if this is how fucking gorgeous he can look when given free rein, why in the world did Bandit ever bother tying him down? He’s divine, sits back and grants a perfect view of his hole hungrily eating up Bandit’s shaft again and again, then switches to a slow, deep grind he complements with dirty kisses, and the entire time he’s so goddamn _tight_ it’s making Bandit go insane.

In between all that, he keeps changing to a brutal pace, slams his hips down and, judging by the pitiful whimpering, maltreats his own sweet spot with the perfect angle as he fucks them both further towards the edge. He allows no interference, this is his gig and he lets Bandit feel it by pinching his inner thigh as soon as he attempts to thrust up, so it’s all Lion riding like a professional jockey. The entire time, he seems to take note on what causes Bandit to produce the loudest noises and repeats it over and over, registers his captivated expression and increases the tempo, notices underlying impatience and becomes a ruthless tease.

Bandit wants nothing more than to meet the movements yet is forced to hold back – as revenge, he does his best to catch Lion off-guard by whispering filthy nothings, praising him, doing that thing to his ear which always makes him go wild, twisting his nipples. It works, too, that’s the whole problem, they keep riling each other up, pushing each other further until Lion is a shuddering mess on top of him and Bandit can’t see straight anymore from trying so hard to control himself. Lion’s entrance is the sweetest nectar and Bandit wants so, so bad to just let go and bury deep and paint him white on the inside, but he hasn’t been granted permission yet and so he suffers and whines and digs his toes into the mattress.

Mostly powerless to change his current situation, Bandit resorts to the only hope left and wraps a hand around Lion’s weeping cock which had been bouncing along happily with his motions, inviting in its prettiness and leaving a wet puddle on Bandit’s torso. Pulling all the stops is the only path which doesn’t end in embarrassment over coming too soon, and so Bandit leads with fast strokes, pausing merely to rub that favourite spot of his, the one never failing to make Lion writhe.

“Do you want this to be over?”, the ginger gasps and throws his head back on a particularly vicious downstroke. “Shit. We could – we could keep going and you could fuck me properly -”

He makes no move to stop and neither does Bandit. “Then I’d rather have you fuck me”, he forces out between clenched teeth, toes curling, waves of pleasure rushing through him from the centre of his body, “you feel so fucking good, I could come from your cock alone.”

Lion moans, hips stuttering. The words are getting to him, which is good to know. “God yes, I’d – I’d do you so good -”

“Yeah you would, babe.” He pictures it now and it’s just as hot as what’s going on right now, as tempting as thrusting up into Lion until he screams. “Just bend me over something and pound a load inside me, I’d jizz just from feeling you come inside. Or take me missionary, like a girl, your tongue in my mouth and my feet in the air. I’ll be your fucking mould, babe, I’ll remember your shape.”

His hand is as tight around Lion’s dick as Lion’s insides are around his own. They’re dangerously close and they know it, Lion chewing on his lip and slowing down, Bandit feeling every slide deep into Lion’s guts keenly. Where they can, they’re holding on to each other, letting out involuntary groans and whines, but Bandit isn’t done.

“Let’s do it right now. I’ll turn around and you can pound me as much as you like, I want it. I _need_ it. Come on, I’m so fucking ready for your cock, my hole is twitching, give it to me -”

And then the world stops for ten seconds as they come.

It’s simultaneous, and their eyes are locked for the entire duration, and Bandit wouldn’t have it any other way. After such a long build-up, it’s an overwhelming relief to finally feel his abs tensing up almost painfully, his cock throbbing while buried to the hilt, his heart skipping a beat. While he massages Lion through his orgasm, Bandit’s own nearly blinds him with its unexpected intensity – especially strong due to the shared nature of it, knowing Lion is going through exactly the same elation right now, being able to watch the relief on his face as he clenches down rhythmically, prolonging both their climaxes. They echo each other with their satisfied groans, move together, ride it out until the last spasms have subsided and it’s so warm and lovely Bandit wants it to go on forever.

When fatigue begins setting in, Lion rolls off him and collapses on the bed like he’s done several times before. This time, however, there are no restraints to undo, no physical functions to check, no toys to remove, so coming down is a lot gentler than usual for both of them.

Basking in the afterglow, they huddle together, Bandit’s head on Lion’s shoulder, arms wrapped around each other, legs entangled, eyes closed, breathing slowing down. The exertion felt fantastic, even after the concert, and the exhaustion setting in has a justified quality which makes it even easier to fall asleep.

“I liked your suggestions”, Lion slurs, already sleep-drunk and peppering Bandit’s head with awkward kisses. “Can we do all of them?”

“Sure. I’m down.” Bandit doesn’t have much more control over his tongue. They both sound inebriated. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Lion hums non-committally and gathers up the blanket. “We should shower.”

“Tomorrow”, Bandit mumbles and receives no answer, which is an answer in itself.

Thinking about what just happened can wait. Evaluating their interactions, planning for the future, introspection, all that shit can wait until he can think straight again, until he’s not encased in strong, pale arms, until he’s not looking forward to sleeping next to a new person in his life.

“I’m glad you’re here”, he says because _I’m glad you’re back_ wouldn’t be correct.

And Lion just starts lovingly stroking his beard.

~*~

When he wakes up, he’s alone.

His muscles are sore, which was to be expected, his throat is raw, which also was to be expected, and the other side of the bed is cold, which he frankly didn’t expect.

Bandit lies there, blinking up at the ceiling, bare save for the hook he had installed right after he moved in and which he barely used on anyone other than Lion. He wonders how likely it is that Lion’s disappeared completely versus him having gotten up earlier – and if he’s honest, the chances are exactly the same. It’s a fifty-fifty.

There’s something between them, that much is obvious, a certain attraction which survived reasonable thought and healthier habits and outside influences. Despite how far they’ve come, despite how far they’d distanced themselves from each other, it flared up and rekindled -

But is that really what happened? There was no instant pull the moment Bandit spotted Lion. He was excited, yes, but more so for the prospect of talking to him, chatting about music. A friendly face in the crowd, not an unusual trigger for excitement. No, the attraction came later. _After_ they’d spent more than two hours talking, not before. After he learned what Lion had been doing, how he was faring, what had happened in his life.

No addiction feels like this.

He gets up, stretches, yawns, and wonders what he’ll do in either of the two cases. Does he contact Lion again if he’s gone? He’s lost all ground below his feet, has absolutely no fucking clue what’s going on or what he should do anymore and it’s terrifying. Utterly petrifying. It says a lot about his improved mental state that he doesn’t head back straight to bed and instead goes investigate.

There’s pancakes and freshly-brewed coffee and sliced apples. His kitchen smells divine and has never looked so inviting, with beams of sunlight brightening the tiled floor and a mug of steaming caffeine with his name on it and a coyly grinning Frenchman leaning against the counter wearing nothing but a pair of Bandit’s briefs. He’s smelling of generic man products, so he’s already showered, and the sheer infinite expanse of porcelain skin is blinding. There are a few hickeys adorning his neck and the bruises are starting to show.

Not a dream. If he’s honest, that’s a relief to know.

“Sorry, the maple syrup’s empty”, Lion tells him and it’s the most normal sentence Bandit has ever heard him say. Fuck grandiose moments, this is it right here, this is what stability looks like and it’s so bloody attractive he almost falls over his feet trying to hug the redhead as fast as possible.

They’re a bastion of serenity for all of twenty seconds, but those twenty seconds are the best of Bandit’s most recent life.

Because then Lion mutters: “We don’t need to talk about this.”

And holy fucking Christ.

There’s no way they’re _not_ talking about this, even taking into account how booming the voice inside Bandit is which shrieks _just take it and leave it, let sleeping dogs lie, you don’t want to ruin this, you’ve wanted this all along now you got it you better not scare him away I swear if you do anything_ -

“Yeah we do”, he laughs in disbelief and feels Lion’s embrace tighten. “Because I don’t know what you want. I don’t even know what _I_ want.”

“Not true. You know both of those things.”

Well. Now he does. It seems Lion is convinced that both things are the same, that their expectations and wishes and hopes coincide. That can’t possibly be right. Before yesterday, Bandit had thought Lion largely deleted from his life, had expected to never see him outside the job again. Certainly not like this.

But their conversations flowed so smoothly. Their topics interlocking like gears, their jokes never falling on deaf ears, their experiences not actually that far apart. And where they differed, they showed compassion. They’re incredibly compatible in bed, that’s no secret, and last night made it seem like their personalities had no business clashing as badly as they used to, but how could that be?

Maybe they just never gave each other a chance. Not really. Lion fiercely depended on a delusion and Bandit was too fucking scared of facing himself.

Right now, Lion doesn’t depend on anything. If Bandit said no, he’d hurt yet accept the rejection.

And Bandit? Bandit is painfully aware of what a disaster he is. An insult to mankind. Narcissistic, arrogant, violent, vengeful, proud, a control freak and an all around asshole. He knows this, isn’t afraid to admit it, and has even taken steps towards trying to change. It’s a circular thing: self-hate begets inexcusable behaviour begets self-hate, and breaking this endless vicious cycle is hard when certain patterns have been ingrained for years.

They really are a step further now. And for what it’s worth, last night feels like a fresh start, whatever the fuck that means.

“So… you want me.” He needs to know for sure. If this is supposed to be something other than ‘doomed to fail’, he needs to know. This might be the first time he’s giving Lion the chance to even say no – a real chance, not a decision made under duress. He’s taken a step back to better gauge Lion’s reaction and earns nothing but an emphatic nod. “You want this”, he clarifies and indicates himself in his entirety.

Now the Frenchie is grinning again. “Yes. I want the ungodly catastrophe that is you.” Another indicator of how far they’ve come: the fact that Lion talks about him like this to his face, without trying to insult, and the fact that Bandit doesn’t even consider being offended. Still. That’s not the main point here.

He’s serious – this is what matters. It makes no fucking sense. Bandit doesn’t get it, at all. “Are you sure?”, he wants to know, dubious. “I mean, have you thought about it?”

“I have, and I’m sure.”

“Even though -”

“Yes.”

“Despite -”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

Lion’s not masking his annoyance now. “I hope this is your lack of self-worth interrogating me because I’ve had enough of you belittling me, disregarding my decisions and invalidating my feelings.”

Fair. That’s a fair fucking point, Bandit has to concede – they should’ve moved past all this. It pains him, feels unnatural on his tongue, takes an unprecedented amount of effort, but he gets it out: “Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

The other man softens at his earnest apology and reaches out to take his hand. “Look. This is a train wreck, right? But I want to try it out anyway. On equal grounds.”

Bandit wants to as well. For some reason, he’s gotten attached to this human calamity long ago (maybe because Lion was clad in tons of little mirror pieces, reflecting Bandit back at himself), and just never managed to get his act together. Never managed to actually let him into his life. Guilt was surely the number one reason and it’s something they’ll have to discuss at length in the future. Now that Lion is choosing him of his own free will, however, there are fewer doubts clouding his judgement.

They both want this. They want to give it a shot.

So he nods. Surrounded by breakfast in the comfort of his tidy kitchen, feeling the aftereffects of a bloody good concert and bloody good sex in his bones, he accepts the stunning Frenchman ready to devote part of his life to him. And when they kiss, it’s neither a show of weakness nor anyone overstepping any boundaries, it’s neither a secret pleasure nor a sin. It’s just that: a kiss. Meant to delight, show affection, bond two people together.

“I still want you to slap me and call me a bitch though”, says Lion matter-of-factly mere minutes later and Bandit nearly chokes on his coffee.

“That, uh… I can do that.” He thinks about it for a second. “If you want, we can switch too. You’ve got a sadistic side for sure.”

Blue eyes glimmer in excitement. “Oh yes”, comes the reply maybe a little too quickly. He’s watching Bandit devour his pancakes, staring at him, in fact. “I think I’d like that.”

And Bandit starts thinking.

Starts by remembering all the things he did way back when he suddenly held power over another human for the very first time. Thinks back to his first play sessions when he wasn’t part of the scene yet, hardly knew it existed, and was given full control. Remembers all the parallels between himself and Lion, the very first two times they slept together, if one can even call it that -

And he suddenly recalls the unadulterated disgust in Lion’s face, the blank hatred, the distilled contempt, and wonders whether he himself has ever really forgiven anyone he despised that much. Tries to remember what he did to those people and comes up empty – largely empty, there are a few memories he’s lost or suppressed or never had in the first place due to drugs altering his state of mind. Blitz has hinted at a few occurrences, but one that springs to mind is one of the guys he met in prison. Where he played the long con. Bandit remembers closure but is pretty sure the dude was never arrested, and there’s a hint of glee mixed in when he thinks of his superiors desperately trying to find the asshole. They still haven’t found him. Not even Bandit remembers where he put him.

He received training in undercover while Lion hasn’t, but the kid is resourceful and determined and if he wanted to take revenge on anyone, there’d be no stopping him. He’d definitely be able to fool acquaintances of less than five years, and absolutely able to fool Bandit after a few months of nearly no contact. This is all coming too quick, it’s too fucking clean and if Bandit has learnt anything over his career, it’s that if something looks too good to be true, it usually is. There’s literally no reason for Lion to want him back.

Interesting.

The prospect is thrilling, he’s not gonna lie. Bandit looks forward to watching him slip up, witnessing him without his mask on, even if it’s just for a fraction of a second, because then he _knows_. He’ll know for sure. He’d be a sucker to fall for this, to fall for Lion of all people, but he’d be just as dumb not to milk it for what it’s worth. If Lion’s plan is to make himself indispensable in Bandit’s life and then disappear from it from one day to the next, there’s no reason for Bandit not to play the part of the doting, besotted boyfriend – and Lion will have to go along with it.

And then Bandit thinks about almost shooting Blitz in the guts once. It was the worst flashback he’s ever had, full on panic attacks coupled with paranoia and in his head, Blitz wanted to betray him. To whom? Everyone, no one, didn’t fucking matter when Bandit thought he could trust him. He nearly killed his best friend. There have been times afterwards when Bandit was overcome by the feeling of being hunted, pursued, by the sensation of being all alone against the rest of the world. Residues have stayed with him. It contributes to what makes him push people away: he neither wants them to have to deal with it nor does he trust easily. This seems a lot like useless paranoia all of a sudden.

Why shouldn’t he take Lion at face value? Why make up a self-fulfilling prophecy about the Frenchie leaving him? Because Bandit would go through his phone to find evidence, question his friends, second-guess anything he says and undoubtedly scare Lion away, thus resulting in the very thing he was afraid of. That way madness lies. He can’t think like that.

It was too fucking convenient though, meeting him at the concert like this. They’d had just enough time to recover yet not enough time to forget. He remembers how insistent and desperate Lion had been on the phone a few weeks after Bandit had ended it, how goddamn creepy and willing to do anything. Maybe Lion is far from over it, quite the opposite. Maybe he’ll show his true colours in a few weeks when he refuses to go home or leave Bandit’s side even for a second, when he’s managed to duplicate all the keys and gain access to Bandit’s phone and possibly placed a tracker and then Bandit finally got what he wanted, right? He wanted Lion, didn’t he, well he fucking got him and he’ll have him for the rest of his life. However long that may be.

Even so, Bandit knows his wishful thinking alters his memories sometimes, even alters his reality. He genuinely couldn’t swear on how his first or even second altercation with Lion went. How much of it he imagined, embellished, intensified, changed – he’s unreliable and can’t even trust himself to tell the truth. What if Lion really is serious, what if their beginning really wasn’t as bad as Bandit remembers, just like Lion says himself?

And what if all of this is nothing more than an abuse victim returning to his abuser, a tale as old as time, a depressing statistic but so worryingly true?

Lion is still smiling at him and Bandit has no idea whether he’s been sitting here, half-eaten pancake sadly populating his plate and cold coffee waiting to be poured down the sink, for half an hour or half a minute. ~~(And maybe Lion has put something in the food, put something in the coffee, if it’s just a small dose everyday it’s harder to prove -)~~

“I have one condition”, Bandit hears himself say before he’s even formulated the thought in his head.

“That’s not much”, Lion retorts, amused. “I was expecting a lot more, you know.”

He sounds so fucking genuine it hurts Bandit’s brain. “We tell everyone. I’m done having secrets. And we’re both serious about this anyway.”

His new boyfriend ponders the demand for a while, a suspiciously long while, and then nods. “Okay. I’ve been meaning to come out properly – all the important people know, but not everyone.”

Depending on how Lion does it, this makes it harder for him should he decide to abandon Bandit, since most people would be on Bandit’s side and provide support – unless Lion manages to alienate them from all their friends in the meantime, of course. Bandit will have to have an eye on that. If Lion’s simply delusional and addicted, hopefully the others will interfere, so that’s that scenario covered. What else was there? If Lion’s a crazed stalker, he’s playing right into his hand, admittedly, but it’s better for the other two outcomes and therefore worth it.

Oh yes, and if Lion is actually telling the truth, it’s a healthy step to take.

They look at each other, and it could be Bandit’s imagination that he sees the tiniest smirk playing into the soft curve of Lion’s lips. One thing is clear: he’s not letting Lion tie him up any time soon.

“I’m so glad to finally have you”, Lion states and Bandit does his best to react with a smile.

~*~

“I forgot to ask this morning – did you enjoy the concert on Friday?”

Blitz makes it sound casual enough to uphold the charade of him ever intending to tag along. Bandit appreciates him keeping up the act, especially with both their teammates goofing off right next to them, and also mentally commends his friend for his excellent acting. “I did, yeah”, he replies just as nonchalantly. “Except for the first one, the bands were fun. Not great but good enough live. Thanks for the recommendation.”

Praise is rare enough that even Blitz, modesty personified, bathes in it for a second. “No problem. I’ll be there next time, promise, but my car really needed servicing.”

Bandit raises a brow. “You had to see your dentist for something, didn’t you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I, uh, confused the days. The car was on Saturday.”

Unfortunately for him, Jäger has picked up on the topic. “What was wrong with your car? Didn’t I just check it over last week?”

“No, it – turned out to be nothing.”

“I could’ve taken a look at it, you know I had time, Elias. What was wrong with it?”

“I met Olivier at the concert, actually.”

Dead silence.

Bandit isn’t sure whether Blitz has passed anything on, but judging by IQ’s thunderstruck expression, she either guessed a few things correctly or Blitz hinted at some others. Jäger is as blissfully ignorant as ever, though even he knows Bandit and Lion don’t mix well. Usually at least. Blitz’ face is the most comical, probably because he knows the most without having understood the gist of it – he looks like someone had actually _died_.

“We talked a lot”, Bandit continues as if he was remarking on the weather, generously ignoring his teammates’ reactions. “And I mean _a lot_.”

IQ seems to be picking up on something in his voice, while Blitz looks like he’s seconds away from an actual heart attack. “You’re saying -”

“Yeah. We’re hopelessly in love”, Bandit interrupts her with a grin that isn’t friendly.

He suddenly remembers talking about the concert in most of the GIGN’s presence, among them Montagne, who’s very well aware of Lion’s taste in music.

And well. Whatever awaits him, he definitely won’t be bored along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> With this, I'm concluding the 'official' Bandit/Lion arc :) I might still write about the phone calls mentioned or post more smut, but the main body is finished.  
> I'd like to thank everyone who undertook this journey with me, all the wonderful people who messaged me directly, left comments, sent asks, bookmarked, liked, Kudo'd and even just read this series - without you, I couldn't have finished it, let alone continued. I love you all 💗💗💗  
> A very special thanks also to Suzie, who cheered me on the entire time and built up my confidence to keep writing several times 💕 (You can find him [here on Tumblr](https://thefishychicken.tumblr.com/) or [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DatGirlSuzie/pseuds/DatGirlSuzie/works)!)  
> You can also visit me [on my Tumblr](https://kiruuuuu.tumblr.com/) and say hi!


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